I Never Hated Them
by DoubleArabian404
Summary: Why does Petunia hate magic so much?


I never hated them. I never hated that world. Well, I suppose I did…in a way. But, no. I never truly hated any part of it. It wasn't that simple.

I loved my sister. Always have, always will. She was my light in dark places. She was my confidant, my mentor, my protector, my best friend. My big sister. And when she got that letter, I was happy for her. I was jealous—who wouldn't be?—but it wasn't the kind of jealous when someone else has something you will never have. It was the kind of envy that you experience when someone else has something that you can't have—yet.

There was never a doubt in my mind that that letter wouldn't come. You see, I'm the kind of person that, when they make a decision, they follow through with the outcome. I'd decided long ago—that first day in Diagon Alley, getting my sister's school things—that I was going to be a witch, too. A year from now, Lily and I would be getting our school things together.

It wasn't a dream, because there was never a time that I thought it wouldn't happen. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a maybe. It was a "yes." By the time Lily came home for the Christmas holidays, I had not only accepted that world as her world, but as my own.

Lily came home for the summer, and we waited. We waited together. I remember that day like it was yesterday.

The owl flew in with an envelope of thick yellowish parchment. Just one. Just Lily's. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't. I was convinced the letter had gotten lost, or left late. But September first came and went, and I wasn't on the train to Hogwarts.

It was like someone had sucker-punched me in the gut. Like it was all just a cruel joke at my expense. Who were they to deny me my dream?—For it was a dream, now. Who were they to tell me I couldn't go to Hogwarts? Who were they…

It was a long time before I accepted the truth. I wouldn't be going to Hogwarts. That world, my world, was no longer my world. And it was painful, even to hear it mentioned. It was like there was a gaping wound in my chest, where someone had ripped out my soul. My soul belonged in that world, and since I couldn't have that world, I would just have to pretend that it didn't exist. That way I could avoid the pain.

So I started avoiding the magical world. I went out of my way to create the delusion that it didn't exist—so, by extension, neither did my sister.

Of course, I couldn't completely avoid it while I was living in my parents' house. They were so proud of Lily, and when I didn't get accepted to Hogwarts, it was like they didn't know how to be proud of me.

I think she understood. In any case, she never made a big deal about it. I married Vernon, and his reaction when I told him made it so much easier. With him, it was just so easy. He was willing to pretend my sister and her family didn't exist. He was happy to do it. He didn't know why I was so touchy about it—he thought it was just that I thought like he did. And when Dudley was born, I knew I couldn't tell him anything about the magical world. It would only end up hurting him. Like it did me.

I lost touch with my parents. I heard from my sister periodically. She was always careful not to mention anything magical. I knew when she got married. I knew when Harry was born. July 31st. Part of me wanted to see him, to know him. But it would just cause me more pain.

And then came that morning, November second. It is forever imprinted on my brain. Because there lay Harry, with James's hair and Lily's eyes—her beautiful green eyes—and a terrible, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead and a letter clutched in his fist. Vernon was still asleep—and it was lucky he was.

I read the letter through twice, clutching my nephew to my chest and letting the tears fall. My sister, my beloved sister, was gone, and I'd never see her again.

By the time Vernon had made his way downstairs I had pulled myself together. I convinced him to let Harry stay—what would the neighbors say if we denied our own nephew—a boy only a year old—a place to live?

I never hated Harry. Sometimes I question the things I did to him. Actually, I do that a lot. I try to make excuses—Vernon would never have let him stay, we would have had to neglect Dudley—but I know that I have no excuse. The truth is, that when he started showing signs of a magical child—around age three, if I'm not mistaken—I could no longer deal with him. Every time he made something disappear, or shrink, or change, it made the hole in my chest throb in pain.

I never hated Harry. I loved him. But he had—was born with—the one thing I always wanted. He was born a part of the world that I was supposed to have been a part of. I hope that he understands my actions one day. I hope that my sister does, as well. I hope against hope that she forgives me for what I have done.

Because no matter what, I never stopped loving her.


End file.
